Skeins of Silk
by FizzyLemon
Summary: "When you visit me, bring me a yard of silk," He peppered my throat with kisses. My words were a sigh on parted lips. "A yard of silk, but no wider than my finger. With it I shall make a ladder, and we shall run away together,"
1. Chapter One

My mother says the faeries brought me.

She said that they laid me in her garden under the light of a new year's dawn, and wove my hair with the sun. On and on they spun until the light was so bright, it filled her yard and brought springtime early into the dead of January. In the magic of her garden I grew stronger and stronger until I caught the unwelcome attention of a little man who lived on the other side of her wall. One night, when he thought the world asleep, he climbed the wall and began to steal from my mother. He stole carrots and onions, parsley and mushrooms. Her strawberries were pilfered as well as more than a dozen heads of lettuce.

"Then," my mother likes to say. "He saw the source of the summer and his greedy little heart desired that as well. So he sought to steal you from me."

My mother never let him get the chance.

"How dare you!" She screeched, flying into a rage. "I would have let you take what you will, if only you had asked! Yet you come into my home like a common beggar, and seek to take my light and joy!" She cursed the man with blindness evermore, until he found his true heart's desire. Without sight, and desperately trying to flee her wrath, he scrambled over the wall and fell to his death. That night she packed our belongings and fled with me into the forest. Deeper and deeper she went, until even the stars were blotted from sight. It was then, when she sensed the moon directly above us, that she took away my wrappings and let the light of my hair shine forth. It broke through the trees and swallowed the darkness, leaving us in a meadow-like ring of trees. Yet in the center one was untouched. A strong, ancient Oak that had no fear of my power or hers accepted us. It opened itself to us and every year grew with me.

It was only after all threat had ceased to be that she realized she had no name for me.

"That is why," She croons, stroking my yards of hair. "That is why I named you after the only sensible thing, my flower. That is why you are my Rapunzel."

* * *

I could tell that outside my window the sun had turned everything hot and muggy. The cicadas were nearly screaming, and almost half a dozen birds had flown inside to take refuge. They twittered together in the makeshift bird baths I had erected, ignoring me completely. I reclined just inside the window, curled into a niche the tree had grown. Mother always said what a blessing it was to have this as a home. I had swung around and climbed the tree time and time again, so I knew that outwardly it appeared to be a simple, albeit enormous, oak. Its branches held nests galore, and shaded those who lived on the forest floor.

As I watched the birds flit about, I wondered what it was about our home that entertained them. Everything had grown into place as I aged. The kitchen was functional, the bedrooms spacious. At one time branches had formed a climbing area for me in a room. Those had grown and stretched to form a loom, and I was certain the trunk had widened to accept new rooms for the paintings that kept me occupied, and my ever growing collection of oddities the birds brought me. Mother brought me bits and pieces to make it our own. I had a beautiful, carved chair made from driftwood and a collection of silver dishes. Larger furniture had formed directly from the tree itself, like my dresser and my bed. Mother provided a wonderful, heavy quilt during the winter but for the moment I had only the cotton blanket I had woven years before.

I reached out the window and twisted my hand in the air, feeling the warm breeze as it tickled my fingers.

"Rapunzel!" My mother's voice sounded from far below, and I pulled my hand back inside. I knew what she wanted and what I would have to do, but even with what little company she was I enjoyed the quiet without her. She brought a sense of urgency and panic that I could do without.

"Rapunzel, let down your hair!" My mother demanded. When I looked out the window, I saw her tucking the hood of her cloak more tightly around her slim figure. She glanced around uneasily, as if the depths of the forest was listening to her every word.

"Oh! Of course, Mother! Just a moment!" I set to work yanking and arranging my long hair into a manageable rope, then fastened it around a large hook outside my window, then another inside to keep myself from being pulled along with her.

"Rapunzel, darling, you do this constantly! It shouldn't take so long!" She caught my hair as it tumbled down to meet her, and I peeked down to see that it was nearly sweeping the dirt. For some reason my heart lurched at the sight. My scalp ached horribly, and my neck throbbed. I tried to keep my golden hair as weightless as possible, suspending it around what I could. Yet the pain never left; and I was never allowed to cut it. "_A gift from the gods,"_ Mother would whisper as she combed it free of tangles. _"A gift you must never refuse. Never, my flower,"_

"I'm sorry, Mother. I'm sorry for a delay," It may have helped if she installed some sort of ladder or the tree grew steps...my mother was not a light woman, and her added weight left my head splitting. As she stepped into the window I unwound my hair and piled it onto a chair, then sat for a moment massaging my scalp. After depositing something in the kitchen mother joined me with an ivory brush. "Did you have a good day, Mother?" I inquired, watching as she shrugged the forest green cape from her shoulders. Her curly raven hair sprang from its confines of the hood and she ran pale fingers through to loosen them. Her generous mouth turned upwards in a smile.

"I did, Flower. Come closer, sing for me. I'll clean your hair for you," She took a seat and motioned me near. I folded myself in front of her, hugging my knees to my chest as she hefted my hair closer, piling it to one side as she spread a generous portion across her lap like a golden blanket. "Sing about the stars, Flower," I closed my eyes and swayed side to side in time to the brush moving down through my hair, and soon felt a song bubbling free. The birds quieted as I sang, and I was certain even the wind stilled. I could feel the tingles that began in my scalp and moved through my body, and Mother made a sound like a sigh. Encouraged, I moved the melody into one about the sky. For hours we sat together in the music and the light, and once I had finished Mother stood and gave my head a soft pat.

"Thank you, Mother. That was perfect," I trailed behind her as she made her way into the kitchen, leaving a path of hair in my wake. "What did you bring for me?" I peered into the room with a smile as she presented me with a small basket. It smelled warm and inviting, and when I peeled back the cloth covering I was elated to find several fresh loaves of heavy, dark bread. Raisins studded them like diamonds. Alongside the treat was a small, ceramic jar of butter. My mouth watered.

"A loaf a day, for while I'm gone. I've also stocked you with apples, already cooked potatoes, and some cold chicken. You should be fine. Are you certain you wanted that paint and those brushes for your birthday? It's a full day to the village that I can buy them from. Wouldn't you rather have a nice new dress?" Mother frowned and brushed my hair from my face, watching anxiously for my expression. I beamed.

"I would love to do a portrait of you, and I'm nearly out. I make what I can, but I've never gotten your eyes right. Please, Mother? It _is_ my eighteenth birthday,"

She nodded and placed a kiss on my forehead. "Then I'll finish packing at once, so that I can be back quickly. I'll have food enough on my trip, so just get my gowns together," With that she was off.

I did as she asked, washing and hanging her traveling gowns just outside the window. When the sun had them warm and smelling of the gardenias that tangled around the tree I brought them in and packed them, as well as a fistful of coins. I didn't know the value of them, Mother insisted it was pointless, but I knew villages and towns desired them. Hoping she had enough I wished her a safe journey and let her down once again. I looped my hair around the hooks surrounding the window to create a hammock and watched as she disappeared from sight. The wind rocked me in my make-shift bed, and the sun warmed my skin. I could feel my eyes growing heavy, my hands growing limp, and as the darkness of sleep stole upon me I vaguely felt what remained untied of my hair falling down, down, down...


	2. Chapter Two

I woke to a series of frantic, unwelcome tugs. I tipped from my hammock, crashing back into the tree with a thud that bruised my elbow. A scream of fright came from further below, and it was only when I made to run from the window that I realized some..._thing_... was fastened onto my hair. Unable to make out the figure and unable to shake it loose without tearing my precious hair to shreds I began to pull it back in. Was there a weapon nearby? Something to defend myself with? My eyes landed on the kitchen, and I gleefully hoped Mother forgot a knife. The moment I had enough hair _inside_ the tree I ran for the other room. My heart dropped to my stomach when I realized how spotless the surfaces were. All I could spot was a cast-iron skillet, which my hands claimed.

I felt my hair slacken just as two large feet thudded on the floor. The blood drained from my face and suddenly my heart was a frantic bird, trapped within a too-small cage. It battered against my chest as the steps approached my hiding place against the wall.

"Hello?"

The voice was deeper than Mother's and fueled my panic. After all this time, I had been found. By now the sun was casting the man's shadow in my direction and several moments later I whirled through the doorway, swinging the pan in front of me. A calloused hand caught it mid-swing, the large fingers encasing not only the handle but my own slim fingers. I could see a firm, square jaw that was shadowed by dark stubble. I followed the jawline up to a deeply frowning mouth, past a larger nose than mine or Mother's and ended at a pair of angry, confused, deep blue eyes. I felt the world quaking as I stared into them, gasping like a fish.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're going to do? Is this all your hair? Miss, what are you - Miss? Miss, can you hear -"

No, I couldn't hear. I was drowning in his eyes and my heart was beating so quickly I couldn't feel it. The pan clattered to the floor and I swayed where I stood before the floor rushed up to meet me.

"Whoa! Hey, careful now!" The words were coming through water, and my ears heard them warped and distorted, like when Mother sang her own songs, down at the base of the tree. I tried to push out words - tried to tell the stranger to _leave_ - and barely managed a groan. Suddenly I was weightless, tethered to gravity only by the tug at my scalp. I could feel myself being lifted, but was too limp to care. I could barely focus on my breathing, let alone freeing myself. Then I could feel my bed at my back, the soft blankets pulling me in deeper and deeper until I was only vaguely aware of the sounds going on around me. They came in at strange intervals, but eventually I was able to wake myself to the sound of a knife pulling smoothly down my wooden cutting block. My eyes opened without hesitation.

"So. the damsel is awake?"

I blinked at the intruder and frowned. He was sitting at my table with the basket at hand, his muddy boots propped up on the carved wood. He leaned back in _my_ chair, threatening to topple it. Half of one of Mother's beautiful loaves was gone, and what I guessed was most of the butter. "You're a man," I accused, finally sitting up. The shock of this person suddenly appearing in my home had fled in the wake of righteous anger. "Who are you? Why are you eating all my food?" I swung my legs over the side of the bed and moved slowly towards him, studying him intently. I'd never seen one before. A man. I'd had them described and seen Mother's crude drawings, but his hands looked rough from work and not stained red with the blood of the innocent. The elaborate drawings in my books helped even less, because he lacked the bare chest, curling hair and flawless skin.

"I was hungry. Surely a few rough loaves can't be all you have to eat," He spoke around a mouthful of the stuff and glanced towards the kitchen uncertainly. "This is a pretty elaborate set up to only have bread and butter,"

"What if it is?" I stomped towards him and snatched the remaining loaf from his grasp and whirled back towards the kitchen. "For your information I have bread, butter and potatoes.

"Well excuse me for being actually hungry. Just because you live in a tree doesn't mean you have to eat like a bird." I heard the chair scrape away from the table and those disgusting books stomped towards me. "So ah, why exactly _do_ you live in a tree?" He was leaning against the door frame when I turned around, his arms crossed over his chest. My stomach flipped strangely as he smirked at me.

"I like being up high," I said quickly. "Why'd you climb my hair?"

He choked out a laugh. "This is really all your hair? Every inch of it?"

"Of course! Whose else would it be?" I pulled some of it closer instinctively.

"Well, I uh, I can't answer that. I've never seen anyone have hair this long before. Isn't it heavy?" He bent down and lifted a section of it with both arms, weighing it with a frown.

"Just who are you?" I gave my hair a solid yank, pulling it from his grasp. "What are you doing here?"

"I was running away, actually, from some palace guards. I don't think they'd follow me this far out. It's miles and miles from the village. I didn't think there would be anything more to hide in than a tree, and this one was impressive. I saw your ah, your..._hair_ and thought it was some kind of vine hanging down. I grabbed on and climbed."

"Because a blonde, hairy vine makes sense?" Even I knew it didn't. "Just who are you?"

"Sorry about that, the sight of hundreds of feet of hair was a little jarring,"

"Seventy," I grumbled, crossing my arms as he stepped closer. "Just seventy feet."

He smiled and swept into an elegant, almost mocking, bow. "I'm Flynn Ryder, and you are the strangest damsel in distress I've ever seen."


End file.
